Posts Tagged ‘Daily’
Some weekends are just better
I had a serene and restful weekend; I’d almost forgotten how moments like that felt.
I’ve been looking worse for wear lately, what with waking up at 5:30am and going to sleep around midnight daily; my little trip hasn’t helped either.
I went to bed early on Friday, it’s actually not that hard to do once you barricade yourself indoors and ignore that fact that your PVR is 95% full.
I woke up leisurely on Saturday morning, took a stroll to the farmers’ market; I abandoned my initial plans for brunch when I couldn’t find anything (I liked) at the market.
Got back home, promised someone I’ll go see them in Surrey, I’ve really got to stop doing that – the day seemed so young and full of possibilities…
When I first moved out here; during my crazed shopping phase, I used to walk over the Burrard Street Bridge to Kits, then walk further out into South Granville and spend the day shopping and browsing and walk back home via the Granville Street Bridge. This, while hard on my wallet turned out to be a great workout.
These days we’d just drive, get what we want and get out (no wonder I started packing on the pounds) – I decided to wonder across the bridge again for the sake of nostalgia. I forgot how much fun it is: walking and shopping two of my favourite things. I showed restrain this time around – I got a laptop bag and a blouse.
I obviously couldn’t make it out to Surrey or anywhere else for that matter when I got home. Home felt so quiet and peaceful, Paul is off to Cabo San Lucas – and as much as I like having him around, the atmosphere was rather calm.
Typically a day for making calls to overseas and busying myself with stuff I shouldn’t be bothering with; I slept throughout Sunday, watched a bit of telly and did my hatha stretches.
I woke up this morning wondering why my weekends aren’t more like this, why am I always trying to pack every sordid activity on earth into a measly weekend?
Technorati Tags: weekend
Time
On Monday I was going to write about the fun time I had at the Caribbean Days Festival on the weekend. I never got around to doing that.
On Tuesday I was going to talk about a project my firm is involved in that’s special to me; again time got the best of me.
Yesterday, I wanted to…
Ok, I didn’t have anything but time intervened anyway.
Technorati Tags: Time
Family Drama
This post contains very personal and wacky human behaviour. It’s not intended for everyone.
Watching John from Cincinnati this morning, I imagined my family drama would be on HBO if it were to play out on the small screen; because that’s where all dysfunctional families live.
For years I was ashamed of my family’s unconventional attitudes, nothing / no one seemed quite right – these days I just embrace the quirkiness.
Growing up, I was convinced I didn’t belong with my parents; I assumed I was stolen or switched at birth.
I liked the idea of being stolen the best, a lot of times I’d imagine the joy of my real parents finding me after years of searching and anguish, only problem was I decided I’d miss my siblings. I couldn’t imagine them not being my siblings and besides I couldn’t leave them with my parents, I’d pretend they were stolen too – which made my fantasy a bit complicated.
My brother (I have three of those) tried to kill himself when I was seven years old – he hung from the ceiling for a few minutes before my mother found him. My mom said he tried to jump off a ledge when he was six. But that’s not the screwed up part; years later when his girlfriend tries to dump him he’ll threaten to kill himself and give her my sister’s number for reference, just in case his girlfriend thinks he’s kidding.
My family’s dysfunctional traits seem to rob off on others too; my parents decided that to be more sociable (read normal) we were going to host an exchange student. For days leading up to her arrival my mom would encourage us to act “normal”. My father slept at home more and we’d have breakfast in the mornings together. We went to the beach on Sunday afternoons.
Not sure where we went wrong but after living with us for a year, the exchange student, decided she wasn’t going back. Instead she became the fifth wife of a Rastafarian who was rumoured to be a wanted man in many countries; she and her sister wives helped run his I-tal restaurant (which was rumoured to be a front for drug trafficking), they also would sit around and loc each others hair.
My father’s contemptuous affair and my parents’ subsequent divorce in a way, for me, was a chance for us to work at being normal. My disdain for the stepmonster was tempered with hope that I could become a normal child again – not someone who like Dexter, had to learn social skills (Unlike Dexter, I don’t have urges to sadistically murder people… yet).
It would turn out, I was sadly mistaken, nothing good would come out of my father’s infidelity.
The stepmonster, Alice was in a class of her own – my life before was mellow compared to the madness that’ll transpire.
She was convinced some deities or gods or something called ‘Good Friends’ (not to be confused with the cereal from KASHI although…) talked to her. She made a shrine in her bedroom for them, which is where they’d make contact with her. She managed to get some desperate idiots to believe her, her prophecies for/to them somehow always seemed to benefit her.
They’d wear white long robes for their meetings, light candles and rub themselves with Florida Water Cologne. Sometimes they’d dance naked around the light before she told her prophecies.
The bizarreness, to quote Posh was ‘major’. I’m actually surprised that none of the adults around at the time said/did nothing. There were so many things that happened in that family that baffles me the more now as an adult. Like how my ‘aunt’ Bea slept in the same bed as my father and Alice…
Technorati Tags: Family
